


Child of Sah'ot

by ansketil



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Expanded Universe, Gen, never met a palpatine clone i liked so decided to write my own, written way before the new trilogy was a thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-12
Updated: 2020-04-21
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:46:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 14,634
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22223539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ansketil/pseuds/ansketil
Summary: Jobin Mothma grew up thinking his flashes of intuition came from the spirits of Lake Sah'ot. But when his grandmother takes him to Coruscant for Luke Skywalker's wedding, he finds out the truth and nothing can ever be the same again. The story of a Palpatine clone unknowingly raised by Mon Mothma's daughter.
Relationships: Mara Jade/Luke Skywalker
Comments: 5
Kudos: 17





	1. Part I

**Author's Note:**

> This is a rewrite of a story I wrote a long time ago, brought up to date and edited so that it reads better and vaguely fits with the Darth Plagueis novel. It was inspired by the events in the comic 'Star Wars: Union'.

_But this is evil, see!_

_Now once again the pain of grim, true prophecy shivers my whirling brain_

_in a storm of things foreseen._

~ Agamemnon

If I had to pinpoint the moment when everything changed, it would be that day in Hanna. Perhaps that was true for him, as well, given what happened to both of us later. For all our gifts, neither of us could have predicted the events which followed.

It was a triumph for me – less so for him, I understand – but I didn’t have his provincial disadvantages. I was the adopted son of Lieda Mothma, and already being groomed for high office by my grandmother. As such, I was the one chosen to represent Chandrila in the Legislative Youth Programme’s mock senate and I was also the one elected to chair the debates. My fate was stretching out before me, perfectly in line with my desires. There was no doubt in my young mind that, like my illustrious grandmother, I too would one day be addressed as President Mothma.

Rohit Naberrie saw that in me, I think. His dark, mocking eyes followed me down corridors of light, pricking my pride, but I tolerated him because not doing so would have seemed churlish. I thought he must be jealous of my abilities. I had bested him in the earlier qualifying debates, after all. Later, I discovered that irreverence was merely his way of trying to make me his friend. 

“It’s only a game,” he smiled across at me as a few of us wandered through one of the rotunda’s many galleries. “None of this is real.”

The walls were covered in the flickering faces of our predecessors, frozen _in potentia_. Their blue, static youth unnerved me. _You cannot know the future. We all thought we would achieve greatness._ The group next to us were busily hunting out the few famous faces from the sea of ghosts, stabbing their fingers through transparent features. I had the vertiginous sense of water pulling away from me and the rising shadow of a wave looming on the horizon. Something was about to happen.

“You’re from Naboo, aren’t you?” someone asked Naberrie snidely.

“Sure!” Naberrie spread his arms wide. “Home of scholars, artists, architects, and poets…” He had his mouth open to continue but somebody else interrupted.

“Wasn’t _Palpatine_ from Naboo?” The name was cast like a stone. Students began to circle like feral creatures scenting blood. Others stepped back, but craned their necks to get a better view.

Naberrie flushed, suddenly serious.

“My family _always_ opposed–!”

“You say that _now_.”

_“Your mother probably kniffed Palpatine’s-”_

“That is enough,” I interrupted, wielding my own democratic pedigree in his defence. “This may only be a mock senate, but we are still representing our native systems. I would ask you all to keep that in mind.” It was less an intervention and more a conscious display of power. I wanted him in my debt and to exorcise the sense of foreboding the holographs had imparted. “Come on, Naberrie.” Grabbing his arm, trailing catcalls, I pulled him into the next gallery.

Things were slightly awkward between us once I’d hauled him out of there, each of us lugging emotions we did not wish to express. “Some people...” I muttered, trying to sound like I was on his side.

“I can fight my own battles.”

Brown eyes glared down at me. I hadn’t realised he was so tall.

“I’m sure you can.” The words were offensively glib, even to my ears.

“You have _no idea_ what it’s like being from Naboo. We used to be famous for our commitment to democracy – now all anyone thinks about my planet is that it’s where the Emperor came from. And – it’s true – a lot of people were in love with having _one of us_ in charge of the galaxy. But almost _every_ planet had its imperialists… and it’s so _stupid_ because he had my mother _killed_ and everyone knows that back home. We’re pretty sure he killed my great aunt too... no one really knows how she died. I just… I shouldn’t let them get to me.” He was tense, keeping his long, handsome face on a tight leash. I didn’t know whether I found the anger or the control more attractive.

“I’m sorry.”

I gave him my very best deeply sympathetic look but he wouldn’t meet my eyes, casting around for a way to change the subject, once again the wearing face of the jocular cynic. I wondered at the thinness of our masks, my hands at my sides, fidgety.

“Look, it’s you.” He was staring at something above my head

I turned, confused. Faces crowded together on the grainy holograph. It was an older image and it took me a moment to find the source of Rohit’s comparison. My own eyes stared out at me, a little stiffly. My mouth was firmly set and I looked both bored and determined, concentrating on some weighty, interior vision. Brushed back like Rohit’s, my hair was left free to curl. But it wasn’t my skin, untouched by the Chandrilan sun.

My immediate reaction was annoyance. _Who was this person with my face?_ How _dare_ they take what was unique to me?

“One of your ancestors, I guess.”

I shivered. Rohit Naberrie didn’t know I was adopted or that I had no idea who my antecedents were. And my twin wasn’t sitting where the Chandrilan delegates sat in all the other stills. While I stared, he was busily scanning the long list of names. Instinctively, I took a step back, hope and uncertainty churning through my stomach.

“Rohit!”

A girl whirled loudly across the white marble, ignoring me and reaching up to kiss my companion, drawing him away from his search for the name with my face.

“I heard what happened – talk about _ignorant…_! Are you okay?”

She pulled him effortlessly out of my orbit, and their glance shared all that I could not. Excluded, I straightened my white tunic self-consciously and occupied Rohit’s now vacant spot in front of the list. The neat letters were chiselled starkly into the marble like a list of war dead. 

_Sheev Cosinga Palpatine_

The name slid into me like a dagger. Naberrie and his girlfriend fell away as I checked the holograph again, counting heads under my breath, making certain that I had the list order correct. The wave hit me and I reeled – _some other Palpatine? –_ but the math was working itself out, joining up with dates I knew off by heart thanks to my tutors.

Who _was_ I? Not Jobin Mothma, named after a heroic rebel uncle killed at Hoth. Some bastard’s bastard with a throwback imperial profile? My mother always talked about the day she found me on the doorstep: a gift from the lake spirits – spirits who now seemed altogether less benign. The face stole my certainly, stole my future, clawed up my lungs and snatched the breath from my soul. Suddenly _I_ was the copy. Everything that I had been groomed for was forfeit to that awful image. I felt my face grow hot and glanced around, but Naberrie and his girlfriend were wrapped around each other at the other end of the corridor.

It could be an appalling accident of genetics; in such a large galaxy surely anything was possible? But I _knew_ with a bitter certainty that replaced everything else that this horrible man and I were connected. My premonitions were seldom wrong. This was a truth that had always been there, hidden with the awe which had always mingled with disgust at the mention of his name; pity that a man of such visionary genius should be so void of morals. Anger welled up and the holographs seemed to gutter like blue flames.

~*~

Hanna Spaceport was chaotic with starships returning youth programme trainees to near and distant homeworlds. Hanna was my home city: my family’s dacha on Lake Sah’ot was only a half a day’s journey from the capital. But grandmother was travelling to Coruscant for the Skywalker wedding and she insisted on taking me, despite my mother’s objections. So I had to fight my way though the spaceport like everyone else.

Argument had raged between the two women for days. I had contrived to appear resigned to either outcome, whilst affording Mon more ammunition by subtly demonstrating to both of them how perfectly suited I was to her ambitions. Now foreboding had replaced excitement. I no longer knew what awaited me on Coruscant. But it would be absurd to stay home now – not that grandmother would have let me.

We left in a Chandrilan state ship, the planetary government's homage to the Lady Mothma. Mother came too. "To take care of Jobin," which meant safeguarding me from grandmother's plans. I didn’t tell her that her worries were now unnecessary, that I would be forced to choose music, history, and art over the political career she feared would steal her son from her the way it stole her mother from her for so many years. The words stuck in my throat every time we were alone. Inconsolable, I could not bear to allay her fears.

Staring at the blank ceiling of my cabin, I wondered – not for the first time – at the strange group we made. My grandmother, a retired galactic Head of State, my mother, highly-strung and possessive, and me, a child left by the lake, gifted with – so the servants said – the spirit of Sah'ot.

Back then, I never told anyone about my visions. My mother accepted that, occasionally, I just knew things. But that was a far cry from the things I saw in my dreams. And, ever since looking at that face, my foresight had become unstuck. Getting up, I unpacked my lute and tried to work on a composition, but the notes wouldn't come. Who were my parents? Were they Naboo? Was I the progeny of some greedy concubine who had tossed me aside once the New Republic forces had triumphed? Was placing me with Mothma a ploy to repeat history or someone’s cruel idea of a joke?

_…A shrouded figure stood at the edge of the precipice, looking at me with the eyes of a night-hawk – brilliant saffron – set into gnarled face as pale as moonlit marble. Palpatine regarded me thoughtfully, leaning heavily on a glossy cane. "When the time comes, child, you must be ready to embrace it."_

" _What do you mean?"_

" _You have felt it… I know you have. Do not fight destiny, child." He held out a corpse’s hand. "Do not worry, I will guide you," he indicated the chasm with his cane, which plunged down into yawning darkness. "Shall we?"_

I woke, sweating, clutching my pillow. The dream seeped into my bones and I trembled in its wake. _I dreamt a dead tyrant was giving me some sort of guidance…_ In my mind the nightmarish hand was extended still. Putting my face in my hands, rubbing my eyes, I tried to erase the image. _It can't be a vision of the future. The Emperor is dead._ Mechanically, I washed and dressed myself and left my cabin (more to flee the echoing dream than to seek out company).

We played dejarik together, my mother and grandmother smoothing over their differences, united at least in their irritation at my constant victories over their pawns. But holographic strategy lost its charm when our ship came out of hyperspace over Coruscant. It was so wrong. I ought to have been excited as we made our way to the viewing deck, at finally seeing the centre of the galaxy's politics, the focal point of so much history, and being in the place grandmother had so often described, about which I'd read and viewed so much. I kept up a pleasant front for the benefit of the two women, but inwardly my mind was crawling with unease. _We should turn back! We should turn back now!_ But I said nothing, aware of how ridiculous it would sound.

 _Coruscant_. My breath stuck in my throat as I beheld her – a silvery, scintillating bauble of a planet. My fears receded as the planet's history fell upon me in a deluge; the fact that I was here where _they_ had been. Perhaps it was in this sector of Coruscant's orbit that the most climactic battle of the Clone Wars was fought, or the direction which Jennet Ock had gazed when she painted her masterwork: _Quadrant._ Awe expanded within me as the Chandrilan cruiser drew closer and buildings became visible: the Senate environs and the polished black pyramid that was once the imperial palace, and countless other fantastical structures I could not recognise. This was the heart of the galaxy, pumping out the sustenance of civilization – _trade, art, philosophy, law…_

I realised with some embarrassment that my nose was pressed against the viewport and withdrew my face, blushing slightly. We were descending through wispy clouds toward a spacious platform where a group of figures stood, waiting.

Grandmother was standing up and straightening her long, white robes. My mother, never one for fixating on her appearance, walked over to join me at the viewport. Her tense features melted into a smile that was only ever for me. "When this is over,” she whispered, “how about you and I visit the Galaxies Opera?"

I smiled back. "I'd like that.” _To visit the venue where so many great singers had –_ but he tainted that too. I found I couldn’t meet her gaze.

"Jobin!" Grandmother called authoritatively, "we're landing, come."

I gave my mother an apologetic hug and left her silhouetted by the viewport to join grandmother by the ramp, adjusting my clothes. Long, loose culottes and a shirt with a knee-length, high-necked, sleeveless tunic over the top. All white. As for jewellery, the traditional focus of Chandrilan individualism, I wore simple resin pendant on a red bead chain. Mon had shown me the robes her father had worn as Arbiter-General of the Republic Courts: an embroidered robe with richly worked cuffs and collar, as brilliant as fresh snow, made for a being who epitomised Chandrila's ideals.

It had been in that moment when an insecure orphan of ten truly felt as though he _belonged,_ that he really _was_ a Mothma _._ “Y _ou know what dream I have for you. When you become a senator, I will have them tailored for you to wear."_ She had stroked my hair _. "You will one day be a very great asset to democracy."_ It was the same proud look she gave me now. The future rose within me like bile I could not keep down. It sickened and unmanned me.

Then she receded from me, shifting from grandmother to politician. I pressed my lips together, repressing my nerves, fingers squirming at little at my sides, forced myself to be calm, and followed behind her as she glided down the ramp. So impeccable was her stride that you could almost believe it cost her ill body nothing.

It was President Organa herself who came forward to greet her, fondly clasping hands, her beautiful brown hair elaborately coiled about her round, attractive features.

" _Mon!_ It's so wonderful to see you again!" the president’s face was open and smiling.

"And you, Madam President." Grandmother bowed. I couldn't help but admire the fact that she exuded more of an aura of authority than even the president. I felt so proud to be her grandson in that moment.

Others came forward too. Some I recognised off the holos and some I didn't. But it was the Jedi Knights who struck me most. My awareness sounded against theirs like a chord. Power rippled around them like Lake Sah'ot and, for the first time, I wondered if my own intuition came not from the lake spirits but from the mysterious force the Jedi worshipped. They bowed to grandmother and seemed not to notice me. But as Grandmaster Skywalker took grandmother’s hand, his blue eyes glanced towards me. The penetrating gaze narrowed and he blinked, as though trying to recall my name.

"Who's this young man you've brought?" he asked calmly, his focus returning to my grandmother.

"My grandson, Jobin – Lieda's son; my hope for him is that he follows in my footsteps."

"And you, Jobin?” Skywalker asked. “Is that what you desire?" Grandmother looked slightly put out at the Jedi's probing question.

I recognised this as some sort of test and nodded politely to the Jedi Master, moving my face carefully to a shy smile, refusing to betray my fears to him, and looked studiously at the landing platform. “I’m not sure what I want to do after university, sir.” It was a lie, of course, and I saw that Skywalker knew it.

“But you’ve some interest in politics?”

I chose my words carefully: “I think we all have a duty to participate in democracy.”

It was painfully obvious my deflections were plain to him, almost as though he could pluck my bitter ambitions from my mind. But he smiled gently at me. _It’s all right_ , the smile seemed to say. _I won’t tell anyone_. I couldn’t stand it.

"We should speak more," he told me, bowing low to grandmother and withdrawing to let others greet us.

~*~

Our party had been given rooms in the Old Palace. Dark, gleaming walls and sculpted lights – I tried to intuit who might have stayed in this room in the years since its inception, while slowly unpacking my things. It was almost a meditation – trying to lose myself in this history _._ A man with grey eyes and a matching uniform fluttered across my mind, his pale fist striking the bathroom mirror, creating a star-system of cracks. But when I looked in the bathroom the mirror had long since been replaced.

"I'm going for a walk!" I shouted into mother's room and escaped into the hallway before she could trigger the door circuit and forbid me to go. I wandered, more in the past than the present, catching glimpses of servants, officers, guards, and courtiers, their faces opaque as I drifted through the architecture people now referred to as Classic High Imperial. Secretly, I admired the impossibly high archways and vaulted ceilings. Nobody bothered me. Everyone seemed to assume that I had a right to be there. I spent a long time gazing at a recent, hyper-realist statue of Obi-Wan Kenobi that somebody had decided to place in a reception room. The Jedi was built of some rare alloy but, although the detail was fascinating, it clashed horribly with the deep-toned wall murals. The plinth looked imperial. I wanted to know what the original statue looked like. Biting my lip, I moved on, trying and failing to be appalled by my artistic treachery.

Coming to a turbo-lift, I decided to see if I could get into the higher levels. There were guards on the door, but they let me pass without a word. _My formal clothes, perhaps?_ Once in, I was confronted by a bewildering forest of buttons. Filled with the supreme daring of knowing a thing will not work, I pressed the highest one.

 _"Please confirm clearance,"_ the computer demanded, a panel sliding upward to reveal a pad. A retina scan beamed sharply across my eyes and, drawn by some curious impulse, I placed my right hand on the pad.

 _"Clearance confirmed,"_ it blurted.

 _Maybe it's malfunctioning?_ The lift surged upward and I must have pressed a dozen buttons in an effort to escape my own audacity, but the only thing which would have halted the lift’s rapid ascent was the emergency stop lever and I didn’t have the courage to pull it.

Eventually, it halted, opening into darkness with a hiss. Cold saturated the place like thick fog. With a shock, I realised that the chills running up my arms and legs had nothing to do with the palace’s history. I must be high above the cloud line by now and why waste power heating unused floors? In all likelihood, only service droids came up here these days. I crept forward, shivering, not daring to find the lighting controls, keenly aware of my trespass. But I couldn't leave – too aware of where I must be – the centre of the old Empire.

Feeling along the wall to guide my way, I ended up beneath a wide archway that opened onto a room that seemed to be all curving window, offering a panoramic view of the skyscape. The room's sole piece of furniture was a large, black chair, silhouetted against the sunset.

 _Is this…?_ The dream came back to me: the deep chasm and the withered hand. The throne pulled me closer, offering itself like those ancient fingers _._ I paused. _Do I dare?_

I had the irrational fear an alarm might go off. Everything I had been taught told me not to do it. This beautiful black chair was a blight on the free peoples of the galaxy and I was a monster for even thinking of sitting in it. But I was tired of my fears and, filled with the desire to steal something from the man who had stolen my face, I placed my hands firmly on the large armrests and lowered myself into the throne.

Nothing happened. I sank back into the soft leather. Oddly, the Emperor left no traces in my awareness: empty throne, empty room.

I closed my eyes, clenching my teeth.

"What are you doing here?" a female voice barked.

I tried to leap out of the throne, but it was one of those deeply padded seats that swallows a person whole and resisted my frenzied attempts to escape its black leather embrace. Footsteps sounded and a woman was leaning over me, electric with fury. Her eyes were red-rimmed, as though she’d been crying. The silk of her black dress was crumpled, her red hair was coiled back tightly, and a lightsabre was slung at her waist. I tried to disappear into the chair.

“Mute, huh? I asked you a question. What are you doing here?”

My tongue was appallingly heavy, my mind a blank as I stared up into rage that was as much despair as it was anger. She moved closer. We were almost nose to nose. The air crackled and burned at the ignition of her sabre.

"You’re sitting in _his_ chair," she made it sound like a crime worse than murder. _"Enjoy it?"_ Now her voice was a whispered purr, low and seductive. “Make you feel _special_ , huh? Imagining what it must have been like to have all that _power?_ ”

But I knew her softness was just the prelude to true anger – that she was a Jedi – and I had to be honest, or she would strike me dead for a lie. To this day, I think she would have killed me if I had answered differently.

But I matched her fury with my own rage. Unvarnished, appalling truth poured out of me: "I’ll _never_ know what it’s like. I don’t understand how anyone could sit here and feel _special_!” I stumbled out of the throne. “It makes me feel utterly ordinary, a – a _nothing!”_ What pathetic being could pull the illusion of greatness from the seat which had extended the limits of power? I fought to blink back tears which had no place in Jobin Mothma’s eyes. 

"How did you get up here?" The red-headed Jedi stared at me and I realised she was surprised by my words. She couldn’t see into my soul at all.

I shrugged, trying to appear diffident and, I think, succeeding. “There was a lift malfunction.” I said coolly, smoothly making the transition from grief to polished composure. Grandmother would have been proud.

She shook her head and sighed. "I suppose you’re here for my wedding, kid?" A layer peeled back. She sounded like she hadn’t had any sleep.

"Yes." And I realised who she was. Mara Jade: the woman who had been Palpatine’s personal assassin. I felt as though the shadow that had been lengthening on the journey here had suddenly congealed into her lean, beautiful figure. “I’m here with my grandmother.” I was so impressed by the infantile sound of my words that I followed it up with “I was just exploring, is all.” The plucky, puerile grammar sounded too caricatured to my ears but she seemed to buy it. 

Lady Jade glanced out the window at the air traffic and put her hand on my shoulder. Her manicured grip was like steel.

"Come with me."

I followed her athletic stride, having to double my steps to keep up. She led me down the hallway, now lit by ensconced lamps, revealing raised-relief wall sculptures depicting the ancient Sith Empire. _Does she know who my parents were?_

Down a couple of levels, Mara Jade ushered me into what looked like an empty conference room. A war strategy theatre? There were tiered seats and the Alliance symbol situated above a large holo-presentation facility. But, as soon as we entered, she seemed to change her mind.

"Let's get you back to your grandmother..."

She gripped my arm painfully and dragged me back down the corridor.

"I don't understand. What were you going to tell me?"

She halted but did not turn.

"I... You shouldn't have been wondering around the palace. Go back to your family, kid."

I could feel her thoughts eddying around me, driven by a fierce current, but I could neither see nor interpret them. She left me there, taking off down the hall, an inexplicable runaway bride-to-be.

~*~

My mother was there when I returned, her eyes loaded with recrimination.

"Where have you been? You can't just go off exploring in a place like this!"

She seized me by the collar and began to straighten my robes and brush imaginary lint from my shoulders. I knew that her worry was born of concern for me and I usually took pains to reassure her, but today I let her suffocating worry drift over me as I furiously analysed just what had happened. I knew that brides had a reputation for irregular actions the day before their weddings… but Mara Jade? I had never met her before, but she had a reputation for being a controlled person. And she had been on the verge of telling me something. Something to do with the shadow. Something to do with my dreams. I ground my teeth in frustration.

Whilst grandmother was busy with official representatives, catching up with old friends and being interviewed by the press, we left to explore Coruscant. Once out of the shade of the Old Palace, I deliberately put aside my foreboding and devoted myself single-mindedly to sight-seeing. Monument Square was a pleasure to visit and mother and I spent a while critiquing a likeness of grandmother.

Then we went and toured the crimson halls of the Senate, as far as we were able, and were even allowed to see the cavernous Grand Convocation Chamber, since the Senate was not in session, although the offices below were closed to us. Mother complained that the Senate theatre gave her vertigo but I rather enjoyed leaning over the edge of one of the floating balconies and gazing down at the identical thousands below, before she pulled me away.

The Galactic Museum of Coruscant was more mutually rewarding. Whilst a protocol droid gave mother a tour of the current star exhibition, something called _Rogue_ (pieces of scrapped X-Wings used to form abstract sculptures), I wandered through the older galleries. A set of rooms dedicated to Alderaan, satirical holo-art inspired by the Clone Wars, and a folk art exhibit from across the galaxy. One exhibition I particularly liked was something called _Spiral –_ rather lurid full-length portraiture of Late-Republican figures. The subjects were represented in eerily refractive fluorescents.

 _Mas Amedda,_ I read beneath one particularly disturbing portrait, _Vice-Chancellor and former Senator of Chagria._ The Vice-Chancellor looked disturbingly ill in vivid blue and lime paint. I sat down on a bench. It made me feel nauseous.

Next to the Chagrian was: _Supreme Chancellor and former Senator of Naboo._ There was no name. I looked up at Palpatine. The painting did not look back at me but away, frozen in profile against a window into an apocalyptic battlefield. Dead bodies were spread, distorted, around the remains of countless droids. The foreground was a peaceful black.

A sudden presence startled me out of contemplation: "Yoz was ahead of her time," spoke the curator softly. "This series was a protest against the Military Creation Act." Then the man seemed to take account of my age. "I suppose you won't have studied that yet…?"

I hated it when adults assumed I was younger because of my height, but I was too polite to say anything. "My Grandmother told me about it."

"Mm," the curator nodded, raising a hand to smooth back his neat, mousy hair. "Yes, well, Yoz was inspired by…" He trailed off, staring at me and then up at the painting and back again.

"Sir…?" I asked, irritation beginning to slip past my politeness.

" _Jobin!"_ Mother’s stage-whisper echoed across the room. "We need to leave now if we're going to the opera." Happy to escape the curator’s gaze, I left him frowning behind me.

The opera – _The Brief Reign of Future Wraiths –_ was one that I had only seen bits of on the HoloNet. The production values were stunning and the singing flawless, particularly that of a Bothan tenor. But the music seemed to be imbued with all the tension I’d felt over the course of the last few days…

_…Fire, roiling smoke, and charred remains spread across the auditorium and blazed somewhere beyond, while gloved hands reached for me, and yellow eyes burned…_

I awoke to applause, blinking, and joined in the clapping half-heartedly, still dazed. _How could I have fallen asleep?_ Angry at myself, I said little on the way back to the Old Palace, wrapped up in my thoughts.

Surprisingly, my sleep that night was dreamless and uninterrupted. The next morning I woke up in the dark. The filmy glaze over the transparisteel window of my room rendered the sunlight outside invisible. After a moment of disorientation (my own room faced east and I usually woke with the sun on the lake), I got up and padded over to where my lute-case sat, taking the instrument out and polishing it idly.

 _Would a future in music be so terrible?_ I asked myself numbly. I could be a soloist if I practised more. The talent was there, I just… I just wanted something more.

No, that wasn’t true either. I wanted _everything_.

At breakfast grandmother held forth on her doings yesterday.

"I wish you could have been there, Jobin, you would have been fascinated by the legislation Leia intends to put forward later this year…"

"By blessed Sah'ot, mama, _he's a child!"_

Grandmother's chin came up and she fixed her daughter with a cold stare, "Jobin has always shown an interest in such things… I fail to see why you insist on cosseting him. I became a Senator when I was only a few years older. Jobin is ready, Lieda."

" _No!"_ the teacup mother had been holding hit the floor. She stormed out of the room, the door hissing as it came down behind her. The serving droid immediately began to clean up the pieces, clattering loudly. Grandmother stared me regretfully, but I sipped my kaf and said nothing. This wasn’t my fight. Not anymore.

"I don't know what's wrong with her. You'd think she'd be proud of you."

~*~

As it was, only grandmother and I attended the ceremony. The room seemed to glow with light, so luminous were the beings in attendance, and the high ceiling echoed with excitement. In reverence for the sacred rite about to take place, we wore our finest white robes and long blue pendants which bore the Mothma crest. I had to fight to keep from fingering mine, telling myself it was real, telling myself _I_ was real.

Luke Skywalker and Mara Jade were staring into each other's eyes, obviously in love, but I couldn't look at the beautiful red-headed bride without a sense of foreboding. She knew something. But it was more than that. She felt… _connected_ to whatever ghosts were breathing down the back of my neck.

A Mon Calamari Jedi was officiating: "Friends, family, beings of so many diverse worlds, we are gathered here to celebrate…"

"Celebrate a travesty!"

A man stood up in the middle of the seated guests, greying at the temples, the expression on his lined face fixed and eager. "Celebrate the destruction of everything that matters?" He held up a remote in one gloved hand. "I cannot allow this abomination to continue!"

Chaos erupted as people scrambled away from him. Someone was screaming. But calm rippled out from Grandmaster Skywalker as he walked slowly down the aisle towards the man, palms extended.

"You don't need to do this – it isn't necessary."

Everyone was on their feet now and crowding away from the two men. I stood at the edge of the crowd, craning my neck to see what was going on, fascinated by the hypnotic tone the Jedi used. The man tightened his grip on the switch, sweat beading at his brow, and looked away, staring through the sea of guests. Then his grey eyes found mine and I watched them widened in shock.

The two words were below a whisper, but I heard them all the same.

_"Your Majesty…?"_

Then, without anyone pressing the button in the man's hand, the room erupted into screaming fire.

"Jobin!" grandmother screeched through flame. _"Jobin!"_

Her lips formed an anguished rictus and she collapsed. I tried to reach her, coughing, crouching low in the smoke as beings barrelled past me. There were flashes of energy weapons through the chaos. I couldn't see her, but I could feel she was close…

_Dots… lots of dots. Chaos. Wherever I turned things moved without thought. In vain I looked for some kind of pattern – order – yet there was none. A sea of images and thoughts coursed through me, seconds glimpsed one after the other. Seconds of joy, sorrow, hatred, love, fear, desperation. There was no relief as the whole galaxy seemed to crash down upon me, like a vast ocean trying to fill a single glass…_

_The fire. Someone had detonated explosives. I struggled to remember. I had to hold onto that one dot, as so many moved past me. The dot tried to hide, fighting my intention, but I clung to it…_

"We need to find our seats," grandmother said. "Jobin, are you alright?" Her blue eyes narrowed in concern.

I was at a loss for words. My vision was blurring, Grandmother was fading in and out of focus, at once herself and a dot that moved amongst a million other dots – moving into – moving forward, and away…

Her last words, choked through acrid smoke, struck me just as she touched my shoulder: _“Remember your promise.”_

"Talk to me, Jobin. What’s wrong?"

There was no way for me to express what had just happened. I took a step forward and felt dizzy. Fiercely, I tried to seal off my intuition and to _focus._ Then, without pausing to answer her question, I strode down the aisle to where Grandmaster Luke Skywalker stood, awaiting his bride, talking quietly to a man I managed to register as the president's husband, General Solo.

"Don't joke, Han, this is–"

Skywalker turned to look at me. I stood on the steps of the dais, trying to appear calm, but I’m certain that my face matched the colour of my robes. The Jedi frowned.

I took a deep breath.

"Master Jedi, there is… that is to say… someone is going to try to blow up the hall."

The frown deepened. The blond eyebrows drew together pensively.

"How do you know?"

"I… can't explain right now. There's no time."

General Solo leaned forward. "Do you know where they are, kid?"

"Third row from the front, right aisle. An older man greying at the temples – he's got the dead-man switch. But it's the other one who's more dangerous. I don't know where or who he is, but someone’s here – watching us."

"What's going on?" President Organa's voice cut through the conversation. "Mara's almost here."

The Jedi Master locked eyes with the president and her dark eyes widened. But then her expression closed off again and she lifted her chin.

"Right." She casually took a comlink out of General Solo's coat. "This is Organa. Mara is not to enter the hall. Evacuate the surrounding area. _Yes, that is what I said._ Organa out."

Luke Skywalker had his eyes closed when I looked away from the president.

"I can't sense him. You seem to have more of a connection to our mysterious guest. Why don't you try?"

I was busy trying not to stare at the man in the third row. It was a testament to how unnerved I was that I didn't give the Jedi's strange encouragement a second thought. Or perhaps it was the how Skywalker's voice seemed to just slip inside me and open a viewport to what lay underneath. Everyone around me turned to mere colour and light as I searched for the one I had sought earlier…

… _Brother easily lifted the boy's body. It was strange, but he hadn't expected him to look so young. With that mop of frizzy ginger hair, he wasn't surprised that nobody had twigged. Still, had the moff's words carried? The clone was warm against his shoulder. Brother was honoured by that warmth. He smoothly stepped behind a pillar as rescue officers and security ran toward the smoke that drifted down the corridor…_

I tried to shake the image from my head. This wasn't about the bombs. This was about…

_…When the time comes, child, you must be ready to embrace it… I tentatively placed my hands on the large armrests and lowered myself into the throne… the curator trailed off, staring at me and then up at the painting and back again… Your Majesty…?_

Like a pick being driven into a geode, my eyes snapped open.

The calm face of Luke Skywalker stared down at me.

"Jobin?"

"Touch me and everybody dies!" screamed a raw voice from the third row. I turned – General Solo and a group of half-guests and half-security were moving meaningfully toward the him. Several lightsabres ignited. Panic ripped through the hall: some beings crouching silent in their seats like small creatures caught in brilliant light, others screamed, and still others tried to escape.

Fury shot through me like lightening and I ran down the steps of the dais toward the man, gaze unwavering. The voice came from the anger that was seething inside me and yet, somehow, I contained it, forced it into a single syllable: _"Stop!"_

The man stared at me, nonplussed. My focus was absolute, but all eyes must have shifted to the short human teenager dressed in white, whose glare pinned the self-proclaimed terrorist like a needle through a lepidopteron.

I blinked only after a blaster-bolt hit the man in the back of the head, and he crumpled towards me.

Grandmother told me she called my name, but her shouts fell on deaf ears. It seemed as if the universe had crawled to a halt and at the centre there was only shock and anger at the shattering force that had just shorn away every previous conception. _Perhaps this isn't real? All of it could be some bizarre dream._ But I _knew,_ I felt the truth shivering inside my soul. The suffocating knowledge clawed up into my lungs and I couldn’t breathe.

Someone grabbed me, but I couldn't see who through the fog of dancing dots.

The explosives detonated.


	2. Part II

_All of you here know nothing. I will not_

_Bring to the light of day my troubles, mine –_

_Rather than call them yours._

~ Oedipus the King

Mother’s embrace: warm and all-encompassing. I remember a holo-monitor droning on in the background, buzzing around us like a fly trapped in that shuttered room _. “… It is now reported that twelve of the guests are dead and over half are injured, four of them in a critical condition… President Organa is currently submersed in bacta for minor burns, but she is expected to make a full recovery… Her office has informed us that she will make a statement later this evening…”_

“I thought I’d lost you both...” Mother’s voice, hoarse with emotion, washed over me. Water lapping at some lost shore.

“We’re a lot tougher than you give us credit for.” That was Grandmother, of course. She sat across from us, her once-white robes still dusted with soot and her short hair sticking up in odd places. There was a bacta cast on her arm. Anger suffused those pale cheeks but her blue eyes were eerily calm. She was always better at crises than holidays. 

I said nothing, giving myself up to my mother’s embrace, glad – for once – for her coddling. Protected by my heavy robes and Grandmother’s body, I’d escaped with only a mild concussion. At least, that’s what the medical droid told me after I finally admitted my head hurt and that I was seeing lights. Words had to be wrenched out of me. Shock, they said. _You have no idea._

I saw the devastation after the explosion. The tragedy, the hurt, and the anger. But, between my visions and the pain driving into my skull, it felt like the whole thing was happening inside my head. The explosion a mere vessel for the knowledge that shook me to my core. Someone else had previously owned this body, this essence, and that person was… _was_ …

My whole life had been ripped from me. Everything I’d aspired to, and for which I’d been groomed ever since I could remember, was now as much ash as the taste of fumes in my mouth. There was no proof… but I didn’t proof. I knew. It’s difficult to explain to those not familiar with the Force. But neither was I, back then. It was simply burnt into my memory.

The awe in those dark eyes, so close to death: _“Your Majesty?”_

“I’m going to clean myself up,” I told them calmly, extricating myself from my mother’s arms. My limbs felt leaden and my face almost immobile as I stumbled towards my allocated room, forcing my legs to move as quickly as possible without breaking into a run. I almost tripped on the carpet. 

Only when the door sealed shut behind me did I allow myself to collapse. I could not show this hysteria to my family, afraid that it would somehow reveal my secret. Hyperventilating, squeezing my eyes shut, I willed the whole thing to be some nightmarish joke. Horror, anger, fear, and despair mingled within me and salty water cut rivulets through the blackened dust that still clung to my face.

I staggered into the bathroom. Face to face with something that looked not at all like the late emperor. The grey-black mess gave a humorless smile, revealing perfectly white teeth, and I scrubbed at it violently to distract myself. Streaks of ginger shone through the dirt in my hair, glimmering oddly as I soaped my skin from grey to raw pink.

After washing my face, I stripped off the filthy robes and dumped them on the floor. Usually, I carefully fold my clothes – both clean and dirty – and place them in the appropriate locations. But I wanted to distance from all that was written on the once-white garments now lying crumpled on the floor.

Naked, I examined myself. Hands and feet, legs and arms, working my way inward from my extremities. Just the same as they had been yesterday and yet so very different. This was someone else's body. I thought of the Clone Wars, millions of identical soldiers... and the man who directed them. Convulsing, I threw up, missing the sink and splattering the tiles and the marbled bench. The tears returned and I stared into the mirror, not bothering to wipe away the vomit dripping from my chin.

Watery blue eyes glared back at me. Unable to hide the despair in those haunted features, I cringed away and retreated to the bath, flicking on the hot water. _What will I do? What does this mean...?_ All thought tumbled to a halt as boiling water scalded my backside. I hissed in pain and slammed my hand on the cold sensor, swearing.

Lady Jade. _Mara Jade knows._

Putting everything aside in order to breathe, I sat on the side of the sunken bath, resting my scalded flesh on cold tiles. _In... Out... In... Out..._

Whatever the Jedi suspected, she'd decided at the last moment to keep it from me. She'd been cagey but there had been something in her green eyes... perhaps compassion had made her choice? If it had been that, then I could still hope that she wouldn’t tell anyone. Of course, imperial assassins weren’t exactly known for their compassion…

I’ve sunk to some pretty low places in my life, I’m not ashamed to admit. All I wanted, all I had ever wanted, was to make Mon Mothma proud. But imagining the look on her face if she ever found out where her grandson came from? It would kill her, even if her life did not leave her body. Head cradled in my hands, crying, even as I shut my eyes tight against the tears. I tried to grope for focus. What would I say when they questioned me about the wedding?

I could not tell anyone – that would be unbearable. Innocence was the best policy, the only policy. As much as I hated the idea of playing on beings' pity, for me to know would be, for some, enough for me to be guilty. For as long as I could remain Jobin Mothma, ignorant of my genetic progenitor, I would. And if that meant I had to lie, then so be it. _What is a lie, after all, if it promulgates the truth?_

More stable now that I had a course of action, I washed myself mechanically, cleaned up the mess I'd made, and curled into a foetal position on the bed. For what seemed like hours I lay there. I couldn’t tell you whether I slept or simply drifted. At some point, perhaps in the early hours of the morning, I got up and retrieved my holo-port. With the audio muted, I searched for images of the Emperor as a young man.

I found very few. Unsurprisingly, most modern holo-documentaries focus on the disfigured tyrant. I’ve since learned more about his past than I care to know, but that came many years later. Back then, all I found was an extremely dated, ridiculously pro-Imperial (that must have been what allowed them archival access), documentary which touched briefly on Palpatine’s life before he entered the Senate. There was a holo-still showing the graduates of the Naboo Legislative Youth Program. Palpatine was placed near the front by virtue of his height.

The still had partially degraded, so there wasn’t much to see. His blurry face stared past me, a little stiffly, his mouth set. He looked bored and determined in equal measure. His hair was longer than mine, cut in the Naboo fashion, and brushed back from his wide forehead. His skin was pale, untouched by the Chandrilan sun, but that could have been the quality of the picture. Everyone looked washed out. 

_“At twenty-four,”_ the text underneath scrolled in Basic for the benefit of the hearing-impaired, _“Palpatine was already an accomplished individual. His interest in political philosophy had prompted him to write several acclaimed disquisitions on the subject. His love of music, which he would sustain all his life, led him to compose several pieces for the Theed University Chamber Orchestra, and he also participated in speeder racing…”_

I turned up the volume to its lowest setting and leaned in close.

The music was subtle and slightly discordant, but there – unmistakable to even my sleep-deprived brain – was the Mid-Rim Baroque style that I favoured. Shorn of its indigenous affectation, it bore a remarkable similarity to a melody I might compose.

The thought terrified me. I switched off the projector and lay there in the darkness. At some point, I must have slept because I remember the dreams…

_No one could call those feral eyes human. They hungered as sentient beings were never meant to hunger._

_“Come, apprentice, I am still waiting.”_

_This time, there was no abyss but a yawning cavern. The Emperor stood just within its shadow._

_“Knowledge is of no use to those it does not benefit. Do not squander gifts.”_

_“What gifts?” I spat at the old creature._

_A slow, decayed smile. Palpatine sighed. “I cannot believe I was ever this young.” Papery fingers stroked my cheek. “Child,” ancient lips whispered in my ear, “Do not fear it as fools do. Your anger is powerful. And do not fear those who will judge you, for your mind is not theirs to see. They are constrained, as ever they were, by their own weakness. Use that. It will serve you well.”_

_“Are you real?”_

_The laugh gurgled up as if from the depths of some ocean, creaking as it hit the air, and made me dizzy._

_“Why, I am as real as you are...”_

I woke to the worried eyes of my mother, her hand on my shoulder. “It's late, Jobin. You and mama have been summoned to give evidence.”

Groaning, I rolled away from her, burrowing further under the covers.

“Did you sleep at all last night?” she asked softly (it was unusual for me to sleep late).

Another groan. Not my finest hour. 

“Darling, if you don't want officials to come in here and seize you as you are, I suggest you get up.” She ruffled my hair. “I love you. Once those carrion-birds are through with you, you can go straight back to bed, I promise.”

The door hissed shut behind her and I rubbed my eyes. On autopilot, I got up, went into the bathroom and, ignoring the mirror, washed and dressed in a nondescript white tunic. There wasn’t enough soap on Coruscant to make me feel clean but, once dressed, I approached my reflection as I would an opponent in a debate: carefully, from all sides.

Front on, the resemblance was striking, but hopefully not so obvious to those who weren’t familiar with the solemn youth in the holo-still. My unlined face and copper hair were my greatest assets there. My profile was where the danger lay but, short of surgery, there was little to be done about it.

The conference was held a few floors up with what looked like politicians, Jedi, and security in attendance. I saw the Old Palace corridors with new eyes. The Imperial scarlet patterns embossed on the walls, the elegant shapes, and brilliant designs. All made to suit tastes so very much like my own.

A few beings were milling around the doorway as we approached. Perhaps, with our twin white garments, we really did seem related. I hoped so, anyway. Grandmother looked immaculate, as usual, the bacta cast hidden beneath the sleeve of her robe.

Luke Skywalker was one of those standing at the entrance, his blond mop messy, his eyes piercing. “Mon,” he acknowledged, smiling sadly.

“I’m sorry, Luke.”

“Mara was right, we should have just eloped.” The Jedi Master shot me a curious look, taking my measure. “Jobin, wasn’t it… after your uncle?”

“Yes.” I tried to mirror Skywalker’s calm tone.

Grandmother cut in: “Jobin isn’t my daughter’s biological son, but we’ve raised him since he was a baby.”

_Now is not the time to discuss my being left on the doorstep!_

“Ah.” I could almost see it click into place behind the Jedi’s knowing gaze and my heart sank. Mara Jade had most definitely confided in her fiancée. “Looks like they’re ready to start…”

The room looked disconcertingly like a court. A raised panel for the judges, benches for the audience, and a desk at the front with an empty chair. To my dismay, this was where Luke Skywalker ushered me. Mon was directed to a bench.

Councillor Fey’lya was seated at the centre of the panel. Next to him was Lady Jade, beside whom Master Skywalker was now taking his seat, with General Solo on the other side, and Jedi Cilghal (a Mon Cal I’d met before who had helped healed my Grandmother), plus others I did not recognize. 

I allowed some of my nervousness to creep through my control. Hopefully, it would make me look young and innocent – which, I reminded myself sternly – I was.

“This is the preliminary inquest into the attack on the wedding of Jedi Master Skywalker and Jedi Commander Jade. The terrorist, a former moff named Derran Takkar, died in the explosion. He used a false identity-card to gain access to the ceremony. However, security personnel were able to mitigate the damage thanks to a warning given by one of the guests.”

_That’s right! I mitigated the damage, that’s got to give me some credit, right?_

“Jobin Mothma, can you explain to us how you know about the explosives?” The Bothan councillor’s crisp tone demanded an immediate answer.

“This sounds ridiculous, I know, but somehow I… foresaw it.”

Skywalker leaned forward in his seat and the green eyes next to him narrowed. The atmosphere now felt charged in a way it hadn’t been before. I swallowed, attempting to restore moisture to my suddenly dry throat. _Why do I get the feeling I just made a mistake?_

“Take us through what happened from your perspective,” Fey’lya continued, unperturbed.

I answered the question in Basic but leaned heavily on my Chandrilan accent. “As my Grandmother and I were finding our seats, I began to feel dizzy. And it seemed to me that a man in the third row was threatening to set off some kind of explosive. There was another person close by, although I couldn’t see them, who was bent on disrupting the ceremony too. As the explosives were set off, I… came back to reality, convinced that what I just witnessed in my mind was about to happen. I can’t really explain why.”

“Thank you, Jobin Mothma. Does anyone have any further questions?”

“Have you experienced such prescience before?” asked the Mon Cal.

“Yes, but not to this degree: usually they’re about quite trivial things, like whether the wind will be good for sailing tomorrow, or what someone will say.”

“Thank you, you may vacate the witness seat.”

I got up, managing not to look at Skywalker and Jade as I did so, and took a seat at the back next to my Grandmother.

“You never told me you could do that,” she whispered, brows arching downward.

“It never seemed important,” I whispered back. She fixed me with her Presidential Glare, but I was watching the next witness, the Chief of Security.

Unsurprisingly, we were stopped on our way out.

“I see you have made great improvements, Lady Mothma,” the Mon Cal said courteously. “You look well. May I ask the favour of a moment with your grandson? I shall return him to your rooms myself.”

“Of course.” She couldn’t refuse the Jedi through whose agency she had been cured, but I could tell she was reluctant. _I bet they sent her to do this deliberately, so she wouldn’t say no._ The Jedi beckoned me to follow her down the hall to a large suite.

Luke Skywalker was seated in a chair. Mara Jade was pacing. She halted when she saw me.

“Come in,” Skywalker told said quietly. _Here it comes…_ “Jobin, what do you know of the Force?”

I took a breath, even more conscious of the thin ice that lay under my feet than during the inquest. “The Force is a mystical politico-religious concept which has dominated aspects of galactic politics for millennia. Although there are other sects, the main proponents of the Force have been the Jedi and the Sith, whose members hold differing philosophical beliefs about the use of the power it is supposed to grant. That’s um… that’s about it.”

“The Force is an energy-field that encompasses all life.” The Jedi Master smiled. “Those who’re Force-sensitive are gifted with insights into its mysteries. You, Jobin, are one such.”

“So… I’m a Jedi?”

_“No.”_ Skywalker and Jade exchanged a glance. “But you could be trained as one.”

I was now a political commodity. Such commodities were not generally known to live very long. As I had no power of my own, I had nothing with which to protect myself from the New Republic or the splintered imperial factions but my native talents. Jedi training, while it could be a trap, would be very useful, if half of what I’d heard about them was true. But I couldn’t jump the blaster.

“Is that why you asked me here?”

Uneasy silence. Mara Jade took the floor. “Not many people are gifted with future-sight. It's a very rare talent, even among... Jedi.”

_Do not squander gifts …_ Knowing how carefully they were watching me, I managed a smile and dredged up cheerfulness from somewhere. “So...?”

“Look, this isn’t an easy thing to say,” Skywalker answered after a pause, “so I’m just going to come out and say it – abilities like yours are too precious… and too dangerous to go untrained. You need to return with us to Yavin IV to receive training as a Jedi.”

“What about my family?”

Cilghal gave a wet sigh. “Lady Mothma has told me of her plans for you but, if Master Skywalker is right, then your talents have the potential to do much good for the galaxy.” Her aquatic eyes had a strange sheen to them. “Of course, we cannot make you come.” I couldn’t tell if she said it for my benefit or theirs.

I felt very alone in that moment. Caught with no one to share my fear of what would become of me should they take me to their temple in the middle of nowhere. It was a very neat trap and I hated them for it. _They know, surely they know, and I’m right where they want me._ I tried to downplay the whole thing: “I hardly think I’m that special…”

The Jedi Master’s serious mien split into a grin. “Didn’t you just foresee an attack on my wedding that a number of fully trained Jedi, including me, were unable to predict?”

I looked at the floor. Perhaps here was something I could admit safely? “Yesterday was different. I’ve never had an experience that vivid – I think it was because I was so on edge–”

“Why were you on edge?” Lady Jade’s question flew like a blaster bolt.

“I’ve been having vague premonitions… ever since we left Chandrila. It feels like… like I’m in the shadow of something and I don’t know what it is.”

“Do not fear shadows,” Cilghal told me sternly. _I’ll comm. you next time I want a self-help inspirational holo, shall I?_

“If what you say is true then it is all the more necessary you receive training.” Blue on blue, our gazes locked. “Think of what you could do with some actual tuition _…” Blessed Sah’ot – both the fruit and the prod._ If I didn’t agree they would doubtless inform my family or take me as a political prisoner by official decree. _Nerf-shit!_ And if I agreed…? I suspected them of exaggerating my talents to suit their purposes. But there was still that niggling curiosity. What would it be like to be able to wield my insight at will? Was it even possible?

I bowed in the formal Chandrilan fashion, hands at my sides, bending from the waist. “I am honoured, noble Jedi.” I took a calculated risk, not meeting their eyes as I bowed – a ritualised snub, had they known it. “I shall inform my family.”

Mon Mothma took the news with her customary sangfroid, but I could sense her bitter disappointment. Her ambition had been for me to enter the Senate before I was twenty. It was a life’s dream disrupted, but she was used to making concessions for the greater good. Mother was depressed too. She’d wanted me to stay on Chandrila and develop my compositions. This, in her mind, was just another way of losing me, but there was no one to fight against without seeming selfish. Her body betrayed its tension and the fury in her movements was palpable.

“I’ll call home and have them box up your things and ship them to the Yavin IV.” It was frightening to think of my room being cleared – that the dacha would not be my home anymore.

Grandmother took my hand. “I’ve known many Jedi… it… it would be an honour to count my grandson among them.”

To others it might have seemed like a fairly formal remark but to me, who knew how much the words cost her, it was a relief. I could sense her sadness and all that she was giving up. I couldn’t help but wallow in her feelings, using them as an outlet for my own grief, buried deep within me and sealed down with magnetic locks. Back then, I thought my Grandmother was the most distinguished, wonderful being in the galaxy and for her to discover… well. For all I knew, I might be a Jedi hostage for the rest of my life.

I devoted my last remaining days on Coruscant to learning about the Emperor. There was no better place, after all, except perhaps Naboo. I already knew what school had taught me – all the important dates, and the question over which everyone laboured: how did it happen? But of Palpatine himself I knew precious little. A man with no mitigating features, of limitless ambition, who didn’t care who or what was crushed underfoot in his quest for power. Where better to start than the Coruscant Archives?

Crouching over a desk, amidst towering shelves of holo-books, I told the archivist I was doing a project on the late emperor. Occasionally, it’s useful to look two or three years younger than you actually are. The archive droid pointed to three giant floor-to-ceiling bookcases. Thinking I would fare better with the pre-Imperial material, I pulled out a swathe of holo-biographies of Supreme Chancellor Palpatine and began.

Five hours later, I felt as though I might as well have been banging my head against the table for all the information the books imparted. Now armed with an extensive knowledge of the Trade Federation’s occupation of Naboo, the gradual strengthening of the executive powers of the office of Supreme Chancellor, and an ocean of political minutiae I would have normally found fascinating, I felt no better informed than before I started.

A section of each book had spent time elaborating on the personal qualities of the chancellor – some found dedication, others frigidity. About the only thing I had learned was that Palpatine had been a man of very few indulgences. He occasionally attended musical performances. He occasionally attended Senatorial fetes. He attended a lot of occasions occasionally. But he never shared any personal opinions – the sole channel for Palpatine’s voice was the official one. It made sense but it was frustrating. Finding the Supreme Chancellor was proving difficult… perhaps I would have better luck with the Emperor?

Personal information about the Galactic Sovereign was much more forthcoming. Everyone who met him recorded their own impressions. I slowly began to get a sense of his range. The man was an actor, no two ways about it. Malicious, vindictive, sadistic, demanding… but also wise, amusing, kind, gentle even! The only really consistent thing about him was the fear he evoked in everyone who spoke with him directly. I leaned back in the chair. _What am I looking for, similarity or dissimilarity?_

I didn’t know. But I was now pretty certain that the answers wouldn’t come from holos. Wandering out the grand entrance to the Archives, I looked out across the government district toward the Old Palace.

A transfixing monument to one man and his creation. It shimmered like a black opal in the sunlight. Even after its innards had been gutted by the New Republic, the great pyramid still evoked its terrible inception. It was alive with activity that afternoon, its grand sights open to the public. Slipping in amongst a parcel of Corellians on a guided tour, I let myself be shepherded through its official history and up into the Emperor’s Gardens, where I drifted off as a Bith botanist began to explain the various provenances of the exotic foliage.

It was possible that these would be my last days of freedom. Seated on the rim of a sculpted onyx fountain, I rested my hands in my lap and closed my eyes, inhaling the dewy scents of the hothouse gardens. It was possible I would never see Lake Sah’ot again.

“I’m not interrupting, am I?”

Luke Skywalker sat down next to me, trailing his one organic hand in the bubbling water.

“I suppose not,” I didn’t open his eyes.

“When did you find out?” The words were unexpectedly gentle and seemed to reach right through my fears.

“During the ceremony…” I was shocked by how easily the confession came and opened my eyes to the pellucid gaze of the Jedi Master. _How did he do that?_

“Part of your vision.” It wasn’t a question, so I didn’t respond. “I don’t envy you your thoughts.”

“It wouldn’t be so bad really. I could deal with it, if only…” I paused, my throat constricted.

“…Your family?”

I nodded. “My grandmother would die if she found out. It would destroy her – if it was revenge which motivated whoever left me with them, they chose a very effective method.” By impressing on Skywalker the cost to Mon Mothma, I hoped to sway the Jedi not to reveal my secret. “Rather inspired, I guess, if a waste of resources.”

The Jedi’s next words were careful, as though I were a thermal detonator which might go off at any second. “You don’t trust me, do you?”

“In my position it would seem inadvisable to trust anyone – especially you.”

“How old are you?” the question caught me off guard.

“Sixteen, but I’m told I look younger.”

“I have to say you don’t seem anything like the last one!” It lessened my opinion of the Jedi considerably that he found it necessary to bring up the imperial clone who had laid siege to Coruscant, so I just stared at Skywalker, waiting for him to say something worthwhile. “Look, neither Mara nor I are eager to tell anyone about you. On Yavin you’ll be just another student. And… powers such as yours used for good is something I would dearly love to see.”

After that, there was nothing else to say. We sat in silence, soaking up the atmosphere of the gardens. 

~*~

Sitting on the edge of my bunk on the RM-09 shuttle Encomium, I carefully tuned my lute, attempting to quiet my thoughts by focusing on musical intervals. My mother’s fierce, tear-stained features came unbidden before my eyes and I was forced put it down with trembling fingers.

I tried to keep an open mind as to my destination. Only the foolish judge without proof, to quote Jhaveek. But, so far, Jedi Cilghal's attempts to teach me about the tenets of the Jedi Order (Skywalker and Jade were escorting the shuttle in their fighters), had met with failure.

“There is no emotion, there is peace.” The Mon Cal had intoned, staring down at me solemnly.

Naturally, I had posed the expected response: “What is peace?”

On reflection, it might not have been the wisest thing to have jumped straight into Mrlssian dialectics, as Cilghal now seemed to regard me as worryingly subversive after the half hour I spent with her debating the existence of peace.

I got the impression such questioning would not put me in good standing at the Temple. Cilghal decided to keep to herself for the remainder of the trip, which suited me just fine. Working on the melody I had decided to call Eno, I attempted to locate my own fragile definition of peace in the notes.

From a distance, against the scarlet brilliance that is the gas giant Yavin Prime, Yavin IV appears more like a brown spot than a moon, yet the dull blot had been the seat of the Rebel Alliance, subject to the abortive attentions of the first Death Star and, just two years ago, undergone two assaults by different Imperial fleets. Such events, I knew, must have had a profound effect on the people living there. The thought of the efforts to which I would have to subject myself in order to be accepted here was wearying. But I set my jaw and glared through the viewport at the growing moon.

My diplomatic ambitions were in tatters, I had to succeed at the Jedi Praxeum and if that meant swallowing my pride and parroting dogma, then parrot dogma I would. 

Emerging from the shuttle, I was greeted by a lush jungle, dense with birdsong. Several monolithic structures rose in the distance above the tree-line.

“Welcome to Yavin IV,” the Mon Calamari said, waving a damp limb in the direction of the nearest structure.

Master Skywalker was still landing as Mara Jade jumped gracefully out of her X-wing, discarding her helmet to let long red-bronzium hair fall loosely about her face. She gave the impression of being used to using her beauty as a weapon. My face flushed and I looked away, embarrassed. 

Other Jedi had come out to meet us. A being whose elongated reptilian head revealed him to be an Anx and a muscular human male with buzz-cut blond hair, whom I thought I might have glimpsed at the aborted wedding ceremony. Skywalker, hopping out of his own starfighter, waved to the two. “Hey Kam – Madurrin! Did I miss anything?”

“Two days of questioning students.” the Anx answered in Basic and the blond man beside him snorted.

I followed in tall Cilghal's wake, trying to seem as small as possible.

“This is Jobin Mothma – yes?” The human Jedi asked. “The boy who predicted the attack on the wedding?”

“Predict is too strong a word,” I told him, “I had only a few minutes grace.”

“Kam Solusar,” he introduced himself, extending a hand. I smiled innocently up at him and took his hand. As Jedi Solusar is almost two metres tall, I must have appeared like nothing so much as a hopeful child looking up at him. The Jedi’s grasp was firm. 

“I am Madurrin.” The Anx bowed.

I turned and bowed in response: “Honoured to meet you.”

Close up, the scale of the temple was immense. I felt awed by its ancient height. Somehow the battered edifice seemed more imposing than even the impossibly tall buildings of Coruscant, perhaps due to the age which seemed to roll off its sides. Oddly enough, it reminded me of the Old Palace in some strange way I couldn't explain – perhaps the fact that it was a monument to some dead greatness.

“What do you think?” Master Skywalker asked me.

“It's... hard to explain. It feels like there's too much history here.” the words flowed out before I could censor them.

“That's one way of putting it.” Cilghal's tone was unusually cold.

“Millennia ago, this temple complex was the stronghold of a Dark Lord of the Sith.” Jade explained.

Inside, the group divided and Master Skywalker offered me a choice of rooms while a droid carried my luggage. It turned out that the southern side of the temple offered a lake-view, and I ended up with a room on the fourth floor looking out over the rainforest at the lake beyond. I resolved to visit the lake that night – as I already had a suitable offering. The room felt like it had belonged to some Alliance soldier, but the walls were grey and calloused with age. It had a single bed and was connected to a small sonic refreshing facility. Much easier than installing plumbing in an archaic temple but a sad contrast to the abundance of running water on Chandrila. Hopefully the lake allowed for bathing.

The window opened to the air and I leaned out, inhaling deeply. Footsteps sounded behind me and I turned to regard the person in the doorway. _Why is everyone here a giant?_ A being stood there, about six feet tall and an impressive sight, clad in burnished armour, of which each piece seemed to have been taken from a different source. A brown Jedi cloak was draped around his shoulders. He looked like a warrior. The whole ensemble made me feel very young. It was impossible to tell the being’s species as they wore a mask – perhaps a methane-breather of some sort?

“Can I help you?” I asked politely.

“I am Klün Kinii,” the being finally announced. It was a cold voice amplified by helmet filters. I had a repress a shudder at the tone, which spoke of a cruel history and a crueller future. “I occupy the next room.”

Klün took a step forward and then stopped, almost as if some invisible barrier had sprung up between us. Curious, I sat down on the edge of the mattress, waiting for Klün to decide on a course of action.

But, just as I was preparing a disarming smile and words to suit, Klün stalked off. Puzzled, I stared at the empty doorway. Perhaps this Klün simply possessed a rude nature?

_What have I sentenced myself to?_ I turned back to the window. Perhaps it was a mistake to choose this room. Was it too much of a reminder of what I had lost? For a moment, my resolve wavered. There was an island in the middle of this lake – an ebony ruin. I didn't know whether it was the temple that set my teeth on edge or the feelings I’d been forcibly repressing for days now. _Calm... I am calm_... I re-schooled my features.

Grateful for the mechanical process of unpacking my things, I refused to be affected by the abrupt displacement of my belongings. My personal computer and holos – the hand-written scores… with each memento I took out, I tried to systematically immunise myself to the pain of this new life.

When the sky began to redden, Skywalker returned to find me sitting on the floor, leaning against the bed, watching a blue image of Jhaveek of Mrlssi flickering as the philosopher lectured on the nature of patience. I turned it off quickly. The Jedi Master had a brown nerf-wool robe draped over one arm. “That looked interesting. This is for you.” He offered me the robe.

I stared at it for a moment before climbing slowly to my feet and taking the garment, testing its rough fibres with my fingers. I couldn’t ever remember wearing anything but Chandrilan white. Ages ago, Grandmother had shown me the robes my adoptive great-grandfather had worn as Arbiter-General of the Republic Courts. When I became a senator, she had promised to have them tailored for me to wear. An embroidered robe with richly worked cuffs and collar, as bright as fresh snow and made for a being who epitomised Chandrila’s ideals. It had been in that moment when an insecure orphan of ten had truly felt as though he belonged, that he really _was_ a Mothma. All of it gone, replaced by this home-spun sack. 

Skywalker was staring at me.

“Thank you, Master Jedi.” I tried to smile but I’m fairly sure I only managed a grimace.

“You don’t have to wear it if it makes you uncomfortable.” It could have been pity or disappointment in the blond Jedi’s voice – perhaps both. 

I shrugged the thing on over my white tunic. It was a little too big for me. “It’s fine… just a reminder, that’s all.”

Skywalker’s gaze was piercing. “Oh?”

I felt odd – like some inquisitive tendril was probing my soul through those blue eyes. I took a step back and closed down my expression.

At that, the Master smiled. “It’s almost dinner time – come with me.”

I followed Skywalker, but at a distance, making the occasional sound of affirmation as the Jedi indicated various places within the temple. It was a fascinating place – an ancient structure housing a modern military installation. Yet there was something deeply sad in that. The insides of a grand monument desecrated by necessity. _That’s what war does, I suppose._ We continued down the corridor, which contained the most lurid graffiti relating to the Emperor that I had ever seen, painted in a shocking green. The worst thing was that I completely understood what went into the lewd image and why nobody would ever paint over it. But to be identified as a manifestation of _that_ … How could I live here with these people?

I wished with all my heart that I could find somewhere innocent of history, somewhere _clean_. Sadly, I'm still wishing, even to this day.

The Jedi Master halted and retraced his steps, back to where I stood staring up at the graffiti. He flushed. “You know, I hadn’t noticed this one before. Most of the really crude stuff’s on the ground floor where the pilots’ quarters were.”

I was tempted to make a sharp remark a about pilots in general but decided it would lose me more than I would gain. Instead, I pushed my feelings rigidly down through my body until they reached my fingertips, hidden in the over-long sleeves of the dun robe, making tense little circles with my twitching thumbs. Again, I felt something touch my mind and shook my head a little, trying to clear it.

“Your shields are excellent, you know,” Skywalker said, “even untrained.”

_Is he trying to flatter me in order to remedy his faux pas?_ Or perhaps, I considered, it is some sort of test?

“My shields?”

“You guard your thoughts well. I keep trying to sense what you’re feeling.” The words were accompanied by a self-deprecating smile.

My eyebrows shot upward. “I would have thought it was obvious.” I glanced back up at the obscenity and then headed off down the hall, ahead of Master Skywalker, who had to jog to catch up with me. 

The wide, empty room, once jammed tight with Alliance soldiers, provided far more space than was necessary for some dozen beings to eat. Skywalker put a hand on my shoulder (an interesting statement to make, in the circumstances), and led me toward the benches where the Jedi and their students sat: all eyes watching us both.

I felt as thought I were nothing but a nervous smile but I needed to stay here, needed to _seem_ for these beings. I had to comply with Master Skywalker until I was in a position to dictate my own future... if, indeed, I could ever achieve such a thing. My vision, at that time, was limited indeed.

Skywalker began to speak, introducing me to a Jedi whose hazel eyes flashed as he gave me a curious up and down. “Jobin, this is Jedi Master Horn, he’ll be one of your instructors… Master Solusar you’ve met already, that’s Tionne…” The Jedi Master indicated a beautiful pale-haired woman sitting next to Solusar, who smiled politely. “She’s our resident scholar and musician… she’ll be the one who teaches you about holocrons.” Lady Jade was sitting beside Tionne and she gave a hard little smirk in my direction. Skywalker’s grip tightened on my shoulder. “And Kyp Durron…”

A dark-haired man, who looked to be about Skywalker’s age, with deep shadows under his eyes, waved a hand in greeting. “Hey.”

“And his apprentices, Dorsk 82 and Wurth Skidder…” A grey-skinned humanoid whose cranium bulged upward in hard ridges gave me a nod. I nodded back, unsure of Dorsk’s species. Beside him, a teen about my age flashed a cocky grin. Next was a human with a neatly-clipped brown beard and knowing eyes the same shade. “And Master Katarn and his students Jaden and Rosh…” Two young men, perhaps in their early twenties, echoed Katarn’s grave smile. One of them – with spiked up black hair which made him look more like a swoop-ganger than a Jedi apprentice – winked at me. Skywalker indicated the conspicuously handsome man sitting beside Rosh. “And this is Ganner, apprenticed to Master Horn…”

“Worse luck,” Ganner arched a dark eyebrow at Horn, who smiled enigmatically.

“And your fellow Chandrilan, Octa, as yet unapprenticed.” Master Skywalker next pointed to a pretty young woman in Jedi robes of Chandrilan white, the sight of which made me feel less alone. “Ulaha, apprenticed to Tionne.” A Bith sitting at the other end of the long table gave a wave. “And Klün – your fellow new student.” Behind me, I felt Skywalker inhale deeply. “Everyone – this is Jobin Mothma, please make him welcome in true Jedi fashion.” A lopsided grin. “Right, I think we can eat now…”

Skywalker sat down next to Lady Jade and I took a place next to Ulaha and the surly Klün.

“Are you related to President Mothma?” Octa asked, leaning forward on the other side of Ulaha.

“She’s my grandmother,” I explained quietly. A statement which would have been entirely natural last week. Now it felt like a lie.

“I’m technically Chandrilan, but I’ve hardly spent any time there at all, really. My parents dragged me all over the galaxy.”

Uhala’s mouthparts quivered. “Do you like music, Jobin?”

“I… play the Bormean lute, actually.”

“Oh, you must join Master Tionne and I – we call her Master Tionne because having two Master Solusars is too confusing – and play with us sometime. She’s quite good for a human.”

It felt surreal, sitting here and discussing music with Octa and Ulaha – Klün a silent, a bulky, brooding mass next to the three of us. I sensed a strange aura, almost a buzz, emanating from him. It was unnerving.

~*~

“Are you sure about this?” Mara’s red hair was splayed out on the pillow as she and Luke curled into each other – their skin luminous in the light of Yavin Prime. Her deep green eyes – almost black in the dimness of their bedroom – were narrowed in concern. “Training the kid?”

Luke sighed softly, stroking her shoulder. “I know there are risks. But… imagine how much good could come out of this. It’s better this way than waiting until he’s older, or letting anyone else get hold of him. We’ve just made peace with the Imperial worlds. Let the warlords fight amongst themselves. No one needs to know that one last clone exists. Besides, I think the attack on our wedding was the beginning of something… some last desperate gambit to restore Palpatine to power. I can feel it. No – I want Jobin here, training with the others.”

“Luke Skywalker taking young Palpatine as his apprentice… talk about ironic…” Mara’s voice was thick with things unsaid and she shifted beside her husband under the sheets.

“Well, actually…” The Grand Master of the Jedi Order gave a sheepish grin, “I was thinking of making him _your_ apprentice.”

Mara rolled away from him in an instant and out of bed. “Oh no – I know what you’re up to Luke Skywalker and it’s _not_ going to work! _There is no way in hell you are giving me that kid to train!”_ She strode over to the window, gripping the ledge tightly, head bowed, her face hidden beneath her long hair.

“Mara…” Luke breathed, his blue eyes gentle. “You need to get past this. You’re a Jedi Knight now. The only one who hasn’t taken a student. Kyp’s still struggling with his past and he’s taken several apprentices.” He wrapped his arms around his wife, nestling his face against the back of her neck. “And you’re the only one of us who really knew the Emperor – I can’t get inside Jobin’s head, but _you_ can. Please, Mara.”

She wriggled out of his grasp, pulling on some clothes. “I’m going for a walk.”

Mara’s thoughts were as dark as the unlit hallway as she made her was silently outside. The voice of the jungle was loud – night-hunting creatures calling and stalking and the incessant buzz of insects in the warm air. Walking down to the lake, a light on the water caught her eye and she changed her step, becoming just one more shadow under the trees. The kid was down there. He’d set a tiny raft alight, pushing it out onto the black lake, where it set the water glimmering.

“Oh, Sah’ot, though you are far away, I know you in the surface of this water, just as you know me. Take this offering as your own – I burn my past in hope that you will bless my future…”

What was he burning? Mara wondered. It was characteristic of Palpatine to become enthralled to unnecessarily mystic notions of time and place. A lump was forming in her stomach. There was a rustle in the trees east of her and she slipped sideways, carefully searching for the source of the noise. There was no wind tonight, the lake was dead still, the humidity oppressive. Mara’s right hand moved to the lightsaber at her belt. Klün Kinii was crouched in a tree close by, his body set with the professional stillness of the bounty hunter he used to be. The gaze of Kinii’s helmet was firmly directly towards the kid by the lakeside. Has he recognised him? Or was this something else? Mara didn’t sense any actual hostility but some strange, unidentifiable emotion seeped from the mind of the usually stoic Kinii. 

Before Jobin’s advent, Klün Kinii had been the student Luke had been most concerned about falling to the Dark Side: “His intentions are in the right place, but I don’t know if he can part with his old trade enough to become a Jedi.” Mara had defended Kinii – her own past was equally bloody, after all. She would question him tomorrow. In the meantime…

“Mothma?” The kid turned at her call, staring at her unblinkingly with those strange blue eyes. She kept expecting them to be golden. “It must be almost 0100…”

“I’m making my offering to the lake spirits.” The boy’s voice was soft, his expression hard to make out in the darkness.

“What’d you give them?”

“The clothes I wore to your wedding.”

Mara watched the small pyre drift away on the water with decidedly mixed feelings. It hadn’t been what she’d expected. People were supposed to save wedding garments not incinerate them. For a second she imagined that it was her wedding dress on fire, floating away. “I… haven’t thanked you for warning Luke,” she found herself saying. The words came out tough and false. It was hard to believe that her Emperor had once been a strange little kid like this.

“Did you figure it out beforehand or was that just a suspicion?” the boy asked, quickly changing the subject.

“Not many people knew Palpatine as well as I did. I sensed who you were before I even saw you. I just didn’t expect you to be so… young.”

“Goodnight, Lady Skywalker.”

He turned his back on her and his offering, walking slowly back to the temple under her careful gaze. For some reason, she found his abrupt dismissal of her amusing. And if one knew where to look, it was possible to see a flicker of movement in the tree line as Klün Kinii trailed the kid back inside.

_My apprentice, huh? We’ll see about that, Luke…_


End file.
